Under My Skin
by talkativebunny
Summary: What if UNCLE began on a slightly different circumstance.
1. That thing you do

Don't even try. The voice warns the Russian blond. He tries to turn to the side to see the face of the person pointing a gun at him, positioned on his lower back, but couldn't see it. The voice is a little husky but it is definitely a woman's.

He slightly turns his head to look around and saw a man tied in chair his mouth in a loose gag. Napoleon Solo. Who can catch CIA's finest? He thinks to himself.

Move and I'll blow your spine, Russian.

You got to Cowboy? How did you do it?

You wanna know? Or do you want me to show you? She tuts at his slightest movement, the flex of his muscle. No, no. I said no moving or I'm going to cripple you.

Who are you?

Somebody who's going to take this blueprint from you and leave you here with Solo.

Who are you? I want to know woman who beat CIA's finest agent.

Ah, and the one who also got KBG's best. She haughtily replied.

What is your name?

It doesn't matter. Just always think it was a girl who wrecked your perfect record. Kuryakin. She says his name with a bit of contempt. With that, she shoots the gun and he felt pressure injecting on his lower back. A few seconds later, Illya Kuryakin's vision is spinning and his muscles feeling weak. He slumps to the ground to find his newfound nemesis to be a small brunette approaching the American and hitting his head with the butt of her tranq gun putting him as well to sleep.

* * *

 **AN:** please review if you stumble on this thing :)


	2. Triple Threat

Illya Kuryakin, Russian KBG's finest agent is called upon by his handler and supervisor to meet in an obscure area in Berlin, East Germany. He knows why he is being called, he would either be getting a reprimand and dismissal or that he will be tasked to take down the little brunette agent that took the blueprint from him at the last minute from his latest mission. Illya curses this girl with every Russian cell in his body, she put his life on the line after what she did. He is hoping that his mission will be to take out the girl more than anything else.

Napoleon rouses from sleep after hearing three soft knocks on the simple apartment door he is renting. He's expecting something like this to happen after the disastrous mission of retrieving a blueprint. He hears a shuffle under his front door and knows that he is being expected by his handler. This could only mean two things for him: chase the girl who swiped the mission from his hands or finish the Russian giant and then chase the the girl who swiped the mission from his hands. He is fascinated by the girl, and if he can, he will offer her a spot in the CIA as one of their spies. She has potential, he recognizes, and would he be sad if the Russians will put a mark on her. Equally fascinating is the giant of a Russian blond on the mission. The disgust on his face when he knew he was defeated amused Solo more than anything. If his mission is to track the girl and the Russian, Solo would be more than willing to accept the job.

—

Illya sits in an inconspicuous cafe with his handler sitting right across. His handler lights a cigarette upon sitting down and sets a manila envelope in front of him. He sits expectantly waiting for his handler to deal with the blow but the handler, an old man wearing a black bowler hat, just sat there smoking a cigarette and lighting another one in between sips of what he assumes is black tea.

Another older man of similar air approaches their table and liberally pulls a chair to sit. He nods his head to Illya's way before starting a conversation with his handler. "How's the wife?" he asks. An American? Illya concludes in his mind.

"Better. And your wife?" his handler responds to the old man.

"Worried." The old man spots a waitress and orders brewed coffee before continuing, "He'll be here in a minute."

The two old men sat in companionable silence while drinking their beverage of choice. Why is an American spy talking to his handler? He asks himself.

"Morning, gentlemen." The lilt in the voice is undoubtedly American. He also liberally pulls a chair beside Illya and sets a pair of sunglasses on the desk. Illya Kuryakin could not believe himself that Napoleon Solo, in open daylight, is sitting beside him as if they have been colleagues for a very long time. The old man must be his handler, but why is the CIA contacting the KGB?

"We don't need introductions, I assume you know the KGB agent sitting beside you?" The American older man starts their conversation.

"Red Peril. How's the back?" He smiles at Illya, a smirk more alike.

"Cowboy, how is your head?" He eyes Solo from the edge of eyesight. Solo responds with an even bigger smile.

As they were about to continue their banter, another man in an impeccable suit approaches their table and pulls down a chair to sit. He is wearing a grey suit, his hair with wisps of white near the temple.

"Ah, I see that you have all been gathered." The English spy, noting from his more than obvious accent, greets the men at the table. "Good morning, Saunders, Oleg." Illya wonders quietly why the English spy is very friendly with the CIA and KGB handlers, they both greet him as Waverly in return. "Shall we begin then?"

Illya's handler reaches for the resting envelope on the middle of the table and opens it to lay down photographs on their table. Illya looks at it to see a girl posing with cars in a dirty jumpers of mechanic. He observes her to be a small girl, barely rising above the height of the cars. He eyes one of the pictures and the girl is in a white shift dress donning plastic eyeglasses, clip on earrings and a sunhat. He seems to find something familiar with the brunette.

"This," the American CIA handler begins, "is The Mechanic."

"She's my agent, Gaby Teller. She's my best agent and she has the blueprint." Waverly begins. "The thing about this blueprint, we found out after her successful retrieval, is that it is not complete. The missing blueprint of the satellite is still out, in terrorist hands. We think it also safe to assume that the blueprint my little mechanic retrieved has a copy."

The Russian handlers continues, "We need to retrieve the copy and the missing part of the satellite."

"I do not understand." Illya starts on his, clearly uncomfortable with the situation. "Why I have to work with this corrupt and criminal individual?"

"I understand your concern, Red Peril, but seeing that a small woman was able to outsmart you, you may be needing more help in the future even it means I am that help."

"You are no help. You are tied to chair by the same little chop shop girl."

"It amuses me, truly, to see you two have been bested by my mechanic. But this mission requires that we all work together."

"Your little chop shop girl shot me with a tranquilizer."

"But I didn't cripple you, didn't I?"

The husky voice that haunted Illya after his failed mission startles him. Solo is clearly amused at her appearance. She pulls the last remaining chair beside Illya and sits herself comfortably. She' wearing a checkered frock and platform heels, not minding to remove the plastic sunglasses covering her eyes.

"Napoleon Solo, your new partner." Solo throws a friendly hand towards Gaby and shakes her hand. "I'm a big fan of your signature move, I must say."

Gaby smiles at Solo's comment, finding that working with him should be a breeze. The giant blond, however, would be a mountain of a task. Literally and figuratively.

"Thank you. And our blond friend here isn't, I should assume." She smiles sweetly at Illya, trying to rouse him from the anger simmering inside. It's too obvious to Gaby that he's seething, his fingers flexing and drumming the table in front of them.

"Illya Kuryakin." He curtly nods at her and turns his head back to the group of men in front of him.

"Mmm, clearly not a fan." She whispers to herself. She removes her sunglasses and hails for a waiter to approach her. "Vodka, please."

"You're all going to Argentina to chase the missing part of the blueprint to build the satellite. Pretty cosy there this time of the year." Waverly tries to make their mission more palatable.

"The recent rising of unrest everywhere is a good breeding ground for this type of intelligence to stay undetected." Illya's handler informs the trio.

"Solo you will pose as a tourist. Gaby and Illya, you will be newlyweds, of course, on a honeymoon." Illya scowls at the ridiculous idea while Gaby sputters her drink.

"I'm going to enjoy this trip." Solo smiles to himself knowingly.

"I may be drinking at 11am but I am not yet too drunk to be forced into this." Gaby looks at Waverly a little annoyed.

"There is nothing more to discuss. Retrieving the blueprint is your priority." The CIA handler produces another manila envelope and puts it in the center of the table. "This is your mission, good luck." With that, he drinks the last of his coffee and stands. The Russian handler also stands up to shake the CIA's hand before greeting Waverly who is also standing and participating in the pleasantries.

"This is a good time for a drink." Solo mentions but never orders, putting on his designer sunglasses.

Gaby has already ordered another round of drink, Illya lost count already, and downs it in one go. She has also put on her eyeglasses and stares into the distance.

Illya takes Gaby's pictures from the table and looks at them one by one. "I like my women strong," he whispers to himself a little too loud.

Gaby scoffs loudly and pours herself another drink.

"I suppose congratulations are one the way." Solo invites the two to a conversation. Gaby looks at him through his sunglasses, "Why this is too pleasing for you Solo, I don't quite understand." She responds.

"This is going to be an exciting mission, don't you think. Why did Waverly call you a mechanic?" Solo continues. He sees in the corner of his eye Illya is not happy with the development of his good friendship with Gaby.

"Because I am a mechanic. That's how they found me. I used to work on old military cars and Waverly found me, that's the short of it."

"We are to leave in an hour." Illya interjects in the conversation. "We should go," he prepares to stand and reaches a hand to Gaby. "Wife."

"Easy there, my Russian friend. I'm not yet your wife, we're not yet in dangerous territories." She bristles at the touch of his hand on hers.

Solo was busy opening the contents of the envelope with their mission and produces two rings from it. "I suppose this will make it official, then." He places the rings in front of Illya on the table and the Russian picks them up.

"Congratulations, you are now my wife." He turns Gaby's hand and drops the two rings on her palm. One is a simple golden band and the other a golden ban with a black pearl sitting on the middle with small diamonds surrounding it.


	3. Slow and steady

GALLYA/cloud

—

AN: I'm changing chapter 3 with a few bits since it's the reason I can't go to CH4.

Gaby is BAMF, Illya is BAMF but reserved and Solo. He's Solo.  
(found this in Tumblr, I imagine them looking like this: . /89d69165725720e24b29740ec8f87d65/tumblr_ny2tnktMxN1u95i7to1_ )

—

"Where is your gun?" Illya asks Gaby, seeing that she's wearing an turquoise dress fitting her body like a glove. He cannot help but stare at his mission-wife. Gaby Teller may be a small woman barely reaching his shoulders but she outsmarted him in the very same mission they are continuing now, drinks at high noon and is apparently a mechanic when she was living behind the iron curtain in East Germany.

"I don't need a gun," She replies as she puts the pins on her hair to hold it up. She spends a few more minutes biting on bobby pins, pinning her hair and then turning her head left and right to see if it's neatly tucked in the right place. The door of their hotel room opens and their American friends walks in.

"I see the honeymoon went well," Solo eyes two glasses and an empty bottle of vodka lying on its side on the coffee table. "Hope the two of you are in tiptop shape for this mission."

"I did not have any participation in this. I did not drink." Illya replies and crossing his arms over his chest.

"No, you didn't." Gaby's voice is heard from the dresser, "I finished that bottle by myself, no thanks to you."

"The party at the Marsuratti's appears to be one of the biggest social events here in Buenos Aires. Not all of are old money though, quite a number of them are people with highly suspicious background." Solo starts and pulls out a dossier and drops it at the coffee table which Illya promptly picks up then asks, "And how are we going to go get in this party?"

"You don't need to worry about me, Red Peril. But thank you for the concern, nevertheless. Your ticket to this social events of the year is no other than your wife, the lovely Gaby." She emerges from the dresses as if on cue, she walks to where the two men are her right hand putting back the rings Illya gave her when they were leaving for Argentina. She lifts up her left hand to look at the sight of the rings on her finger unconscious that Illya is looking at her intently while Solo like a cat too pleased with what he is seeing.

"There is no need to carry a gun, Illya." She repeats herself while she puts on her signature white sunglasses.

"This is a dangerous man we are meeting, I do not want us to be in danger, seeing that you do not carry one." He gestures towards Gaby from head to foot for emphasis.

"Ah but this Marsuratti is a friend, isn't he, Gaby?" Solo clears his throat to prompt Gaby to explain all to Illya.

"He is not a friend, Solo. He is Lorenzo Marsuratti, some man who knew my father during the war. He is a Nazi sympathizer who was one of the first to escape the country before the war ended." Gaby pulls down her sunglasses when she sees the dossier and files about Marsuratti scattered on the coffee table. She let's out a small humm before continuing her story. "He's laundering Nazi money to support his business, now it seems he's digging up for oil and trying to be build wine country here."

"He's more than just a man trying to be rich by laundering some dirty money, he's also dabbling his dirty hands with some criminal activities. Not enough to be considered acts of terrorism but clearly more than petty crimes." Solo added.

"And why this guy will help us and more importantly why this guy is not in jail." Illya interjects, the case of Lorenzo Marsuratti's freedom clearly is not sitting well with him.

"Lorenzo Marsuratti is my first mission, seems it was a test more than anything else. He knew my father and at that time I was looking for him, I made him a deal to keep him out of international police's hands in return he would give me information about my father." Gaby relates to Illya.

"And where is your father, have you met him?"

"No, but I do know exactly where he is but that is beside the point. Marsuratti likes to think I treat him like family, because of my father, he's a good fountain of information and will cooperate willingly as long as I keep him away from capture."

"I will leave the tracker here so you can put it on." Solo puts out a tracker from his jacket pocket and puts it down on the center of the table. "I'll be back in a few minutes." Solo leaves the room and Gaby points out again to Illya again that needlessness of carrying a gun.

"No guns, don't carry anything at all." She picks up the garter of the tracker, puts her leg on the coffee table and slides the garter to her thigh. Meanwhile, Illya sitting on the couch seems to find the view from their hotel room more interesting than ever.

"I do not carry, gun. I can protect myself. And my wife." llya looks up from the sofa where he is sitting, his elbows resting on his knees, his hands clasped where his chin is resting.

"I don't believe that. You look like the type of person who will carry even a dart on his belt buckle if you can." Gaby rounds the sofa and stands in front of Illya, crossing her arms and stares back at his blue grey eyes. His eyes are breathtaking, she thinks for a second but recovers before it can register to his sharp senses.

"You trust me my wife, and I will trust you." He defiantly informs Gaby.

"Well, we're not leaving this hotel room until you put that Makarov pistol on this table and leave it."

Illya pauses and wonders how Gaby knows about the gun neatly tucked at the holster on his side. He knows that given his stature, a 7-inch gun isn't noticeable when neatly tucked in his jacket. "How do you know I have gun? I don't have gun."

"Of course you do. I watched you when you were putting it on. Do you want to put it on this coffee table or do you want me to search you instead?" She smirks as she bores her eyes on his while her hands are working their way on his shoulders to his chest and then smoothly reaching in his jacket to touch the gun. "There you are, sweetheart."

"There is need to carry gun." He motions to remove her hand on the gun but she deftly removes her hands on his side and settles them on his chest pushing him down.

"You give me the gun, or I will search you."

"Why? No." He vehemently disagrees and stands up away from his mission-wife. He's nervous about the idea about this deft-handed girl touching him. The thought of her hands skimming him makes him nervous. He is not used to close touching unless it is to break another person's bones.

"Stand up on that side and put your hands on the wall. Let's make this easy for each other. You can search me after to be sure. We have to do this right." She gestures her hand to the wall near the bedroom for Illya to assume the position. "This will not take a lifetime." Illya reluctantly stands to the wall and Gaby follows behind.

"Just think of this as routine check. Regular check for bugs, trackers and weapons." Gaby tells Illya as she kneels as Illya puts his hands on the wall.

Her touches were thorough. And very, very slow. She frisks his ankles twice and then slowly slides them up to his calf, her hands feeling every inch along the way. She slowly moves up, continuing to check every inch up to his knees and to his thighs. Illya holds his breath once she reaches the part just above the knee. She slows down her movement more since her hands quite small for his thighs. Her hands slowly moving half his thighs and then a little higher. "Gaby…" Illya stops her.

"Easy, there my Russian friend. We're not going to dangerous territories." She huffs as she stands up and straightens herself. Already on full height, Gaby barely passes above his shoulders. She starts to feel his lower back, and stopping precisely where she shot him. "Remember the first night we met, husband?" Gaby playfully asks Illya, knowing that it still bothers him.

"Of course, how can I forget. You are the only one, wife." He replies, emphasizing on the word wife.

Gaby continues her trail, moving up to the muscles on his back and then to his sides. She tries not to feel anything about a routine check but Gaby feels a little ridiculous that she seems to be enjoying what she's doing: torturing her mission-husband, the Russian blond. She slides her hands up to his armpit and then sliding to his muscular arms. She knows that if Illya puts his mind to it, he can probably crush her head with just his bare hands given the his muscles are rippling under his shirt. She trails to his upper arms first then moves back her hand to his sides for a final pat down.

Gaby lets out a satisfied "Hmm."

"Are you happy now?" Illya asks a bit smugly and a little too pleased with himself, turning around to face her.

"Very." She replies and turns her back on Illya, but his hand reaches hers to quickly pull her back.

"You are not yet finished."

"I trust you don't have anything on your chest, neck, ears and hair." Gaby jibes and gently pulls her hand away from Illya's grip. "Do you want to check me for weapons, then?" Gaby walks to the coffee table where Illya's jacket is resting and brushes her skirt aside. "We don't have all morning."

Illya does not move for a moment, a little stunned by Gaby's antics. He clears his throat for a moment before quickly rubbing them together as he approaches her.

He warms his hands for a few more before releasing his hands to touch her legs. His hands reach her thighs and Gaby buckles. "Ugh. They're still cold."

"Sorry." Illya doesn't look at Gaby but keeps his hand working on her thigh going lower and then moving to the other leg, not taking as much time as Gaby did.

"What are you doing down there?" Gaby asks.

"Trying not to get lost." He answers, looking up and smiling at Gaby. Two can play this game, he thinks to himself. "You're trembling."

"That's because I'm scared."

"It's going to be okay," Illya gaze never leaves Gaby.

"How do you know?" Gaby lowers her head to meet Illya's Gaze.

"I'll be… I'll be close by." Gaby leans in to brush a kiss at Illya's lips but she is roused by the knocking on the door and Napoleon Solo walking in on them.

"All turned on now?"

"Don't you have the most perfect timing in the world, Solo." She smiles sweetly but contemptuously at Solo, Illya holds her hand to help Gaby get down from the coffee table. "Thank you, husband." Her smile sweeter to him than Solo's.

"Wife." Illya stiffly replies. "Shall we go?"


	4. Nocturne, Op 2

**AN:** This is composed by Frederic Chopin, you should listen to it. This now my Gallya song.

(I can imagine Gaby throwing people out the window despite her small stature, Illya in a fit of rage doing epic table flipping and Solo shooting people without breaking a sweat and this is the background music.)

Gaby is small so I imagine her to be like Black Widow, small but quick. But I want her to throw people out of windows, too. That would be awesome and I think Illya would like it very much (because he likes his women strong) and Solo will find it funny but will warrant more respect from him.

—

Gaby rips the slit of her turquoise dress and reaches to between her thighs to produce a small gun.

"You said no gun and you carry gun with you?" Illya is not pleased that Gaby was able to outsmart him yet again, even in a very small matter of carrying a gun.

"Should've checked higher, sweetheart." She cocks the gun and prepares to shoot. Illya and Gaby are behind a table on its side and Solo is behind his own while men are continuously shooting at them.

"You should not have thrown that man outside the window." Illya reprimands Gaby.

"And you should not have started smashing tables and turning them upside down!" Gaby counters. Solo hearing them from the other table yells back.

"This is not the time for a lover's spat. Maybe if we can just shoot one man and get a gun would turn your honeymoon into a lovely day."

"We're not arguing." They reply in unison.

"I'll cover you." Gaby tells Illya and they set in motion. Gaby aims for the one closest their table and Illya dashes to another sideways table. He hauls it to protect himself from gunfire and marches towards three men and knocks them down and then collects their guns. Solo kneeling for cover pushes his table to another horde of shooting men to knock them also and collect their arms. Gaby stays behind her table covering Illya and Solo.

After collecting weapons, Solo and Illya starts returning the favor from Marsuratti's men and shoots them back. "I'm out of ammo!" Gaby shouts.

"I will get you, Gaby. Stay where you are." Illya responds quickly.

"No, I will go there. Cover for me! Solo, cover for me!"

"It is dangerous, I will get you."

"I said, Illya, I will go there."

"No!"

"This is really not the time for a lover's spat, my friends." Solo again yells at his companions. Sometimes he wonders why they were put together by their handlers but their dysfunctional team somehow functions in its own way, he realizes.

In a heartbeat, he heard Illya say "Go" who stood up carrying his table and shooting at the last few men and Gaby running to his side as quickly as she can in her ripped turquoise dress and golden heels. "Give me a gun." Gaby instantly tells Illya as they are crouched closely beside each other behind their table.

If Illya is horrified, he is quick to hide it as he hears Gaby's dress being ripped apart further. "What are you trying to do?" He asks.

"I cannot throw people as quick as I want to in this dress, can I?"

Her comment is returned with a laugh from Illya, his first in their mission. "I like my women strong."

"Incoming, honeymooners!" Solo takes back their attention.

Gaby takes the two guns from Illya's hand and understanding Gaby's nod, Illya raises the table and throws it at the last men shooting at them. Gaby fires her gun, dress ripped and feet apart with the two guns aiming directly at their enemies. Solo joins the married couple and shoots the last of his ammo.

Illya hears a groan and a man from behind them who is running towards Gaby, his hands outstretched aiming to strangle her. Solo warns Gaby and runs towards the assailant, "Gaby, behind you." Illya picks up a chair to throw at the man but Gaby is far quicker than either. She turns on her heel and as the man approaches, parries his arms and manoeuvres her arms to lock his and again on her turns on her heel. She bends her back and then lift him on her back and then throws him forward. "You ruined the back of my dress!" Gaby groans.

"Impressive, I see why Red Peril cannot take his eyes off you." He says while checking the unconscious men on the ground.

Illya is quiet, but there is a smile on his face as he watches Gaby approaching one conscious man.

"Where's Enzo?" She grabs the man by the collar of his suit jacket.

"Sos loca!" He shouts back and Gaby shakes him to ask again. "Where's Enzo!"

"I will not tell you!" The man replies with heavy accent.

She feels Illya approach her side and releases the man. Illya picks him up and raises him by the collar to ask the same question. "You tell my wife where this Enzo is or I throw you out the window."

"Is that the signature move of the Kuryakin family? Throwing people out the window? You both seem to be very good at it and enjoy it too much." Solo comments. His attention is focused in checking the pockets and left behind weapons.

The back door of the restaurant opens and the very man they were looking for emerges.

"Gaby, mi bella amor. I'm sorry about this. I did not know you are here, you coming without notice. I'm sorry, I told my men not to let anyone without invitation enter." Lorenzo Marsuratti, a man in mid-50s in dressed in black suit, with hair graying on the side. He approaches gaby with open arms and pulls her into a hug and a customary kiss on the cheek. "Who are these men, if I may ask?"

"This is my husband, Illya Kuryakin. And our colleague, Napoleon Solo." The two approaches her side, Solo standing a few feet apart but Illya looms over Gaby and puts his hand on her waist.

"But that is good news, very good news. You come here with good news and my men shoot you. I'm sorry about this. But married? I see you 6 months ago and then this. But ah, perdoname mi bella. Let me make this up for you. Perhaps a new dress?"

"My visit costs more than a new dress, but I will not say no."

"Come with me, please. Your husband is a very tall man." Enzo takes Gaby by the arm but throws Illya a look which he returns with a scowl. Solo maintains a smile.

"You are all working for international police, I assume? I hope this event does not go to higher ups, no?" He slyly comments.

Solo mouths to Illya, "Interpol?" and Illya just shrugs deciding that they should go along with Gaby's flow.


End file.
